I Grief for Sherlock Holmes
by Justine Dahino
Summary: The story takes place after Sherlock Holmes's death. A depressed John Watson and how he got the mustache. One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** Sherlock is not mine

* * *

Ella leaned forward sympathetically. "What happened, John?"

John closed his eyes. He tried to control himself. Then he looked up to her again. His eyes are full of loss. He cleared his throat and breathes heavily. "Sher..." He said. His voice is breaking.

John couldn't continue. He cleared his throat again then swallowed hard.

"You need to get it out." Ella said gently.

"My best friend..." John said softly. His voice is full of pain. "Sherlock Holmes..." He continued. He could feel the tears in his eyes and sniffed. "...Is dead"

"How? What happened?" Ella asked sincerely.

John held the tears. He couldn't stare at Ella so he looked down to the floor and folded his hands together nervously.

"Please John, that is the reason why you are here, right?" Ella said with concern in her voice.

"...Sherlock... he thought that... that... he was a fake." John said flatly.

"Fake?" Ella said. The tone of her voice sounded confused. She looked like she's struggling to hear him clearly.

John took a deep breath and exhaled. He could feel his chest tightened. "The first time we met, the first time we met, he deduced me. He was actually right about the... the Afghanistan or Iraq thing..." He paused. The tears in his eyes fell to his cheeks. "...He told me that he research about me. He told me he was just trying to impress me..." He paused again and sniffed. "Sherlock Holmes is not a fake person. Sherlock Holmes is a real person. How can he know about... about the... the place where Sarah and I were being held hostage? If he was a fake... how can he know about the code to open Irene's phone? What about the hound in Baskerville? Sherlock Holmes is not a fake person!" He said emotionally. He wanted to shout these words to everyone who insults his best friend right in front of their face! "He told me he doesn't have friends. He told me that... that I was... that I was..."

"Let it out, John." Ella told him gently again.

John braced himself. He sat straight and tightened his hands on his knees. "The only friend he got..." He choked.

"How's your blog going, John?" Ella asked curiously.

"It's... well" John answered.

"Have you write a new one about Sherlock Holmes's death?" Ella asked.

"I tried..." John answered.

"You tried what?" Ella inquired.

"I tried to write but I can't... I-I... I just can't... I'm lost for words..." John said.

"Or you can't do it" Ella interrupted.

John looked down on the floor again in defeat. She was right. He can't do it. He couldn't have the courage to write his emotions and feelings about Sherlock's death. He swallowed hard. "You are right, Ella. I can't do it..."

"You have to write it down, John. It will help you." Ella told him.

John looked up to her. He stared at Ella for a moment. Then he nodded. "I'll try..." He said brokenly.

* * *

_Sherlock Holmes_

_Sherlock Bloody Holmes is dead..._

Were the words typed in John Watson's blog. He wanted to continue writing about Sherlock Holmes's death but he couldn't.

It's after one day since his best friend's death.

John felt the depression. He had seen so many deaths while he was in Afghanistan. He had seen his comrades dying during the war but this is different. His best friend left him a note, a phone call note that left him hurt. He tried to move on, he tried so hard but it's still difficult. The memory of Sherlock Holmes jumping off the rooftop to his death is still fresh in his mind.

John sighed. He pressed the backspace button on his laptop with his index finger and the words in his blog were erased.

John Watson stared blankly at the blank page on his blog. The depression he felt hasn't gone until now.

It's been a week after Sherlock Holmes's death and John hasn't moved on yet.

The memory of Sherlock Holmes's death plays in his mind again.

John closed his eyes tightly trying to block the memory off his head. He put his elbows on his knees. He dropped his head on his hands and took a deep breath.

* * *

It's snowing.

Today is December and John Watson is alone.

John Watson doesn't want to celebrate Christmas today because he just doesn't want to celebrate... For the first time in his life, he doesn't feel the spirit of Christmas today...

Mrs. Hudson is not even here either. She had left somewhere but she will be back.

John looked like crap. His hair was dishevelled from running his hands on his hair over and over. His eyes are drooping. His back leaned on the chair. His mind is blank. His arms are hanging off the armchairs. He is holding a glass of whiskey on his left hand. He felt a totally drunk. He had been drinking all night.

_Sherlock, tell me how to stop this depression..._ _please..._ John thought desperately._ Tell me how to stop..._

John stared blankly at Sherlock Holmes's empty chair. He remembered Sherlock bloody Holmes playing a Christmas song using his violin. But now he couldn't see Sherlock playing his violin anymore because the man is dead.

John raised his glass. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock..." He said to himself and drank it.

* * *

One day after Christmas, Mrs. Hudson returned at 221b Baker Street. She was about to greet John Watson when she noticed him packing his things.

Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway. She felt her smile faded. "John, what are you doing?"

John gasped. He nearly jumped with fright. When he glanced behind him, he felt relief to see who the person was. "Oh God, it's just you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Sorry," Mrs. Hudson apologized. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving, Mrs. Hudson..." John told her as he put his laptop inside his bag.

Mrs. Hudson looked at him. "Why?" She wanted to know.

John tightened his lips and turned to Mrs. Hudson. "I can't stay here any longer."

Mrs. Hudson just looked at him. Her eyes full of sadness.

John stepped towards Mrs. Hudson and embraced her tightly around his arms.

Mrs. Hudson embraced him back.

John and Mrs. Hudson released their embrace.

John took his gun from the table. He stared at it for awhile and looked around the room. His eyes stopped on the smiley gravity on the wall that Sherlock made. There were still bullet marks on the wall. Sherlock made those bullet marks, shooting the wall using his gun because he was bored as hell.

John felt his lips stretched into a smile.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson called.

John seemed that he didn't hear Mrs. Hudson calling him. His eyes are fixed at the gravity on the wall.

"John" Mrs. Hudson called again patiently.

"Oh!" John gushed. He blinked and glanced back to Mrs. Hudson. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"No" Mrs. Hudson said.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson." John said as he embraced her again tightly. He didn't realize that he was still holding his gun while embracing Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh John, I know how we've been through after..." Mrs. Hudson said.

"I know, I know, I know." John interrupted as he patted Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh John, when will I see you again?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Soon..." John answered. "I just wanted to move on with my life, Mrs. Hudson."

* * *

**One Year Later**

John Watson snapped his eyes open. He lies on the bed for awhile. The bed was his own. He realized that he is on his own flat, not Sherlock Holmes's flat.

It's been one year now after leaving 221b Baker Street.

John felt determined. He felt that he could really move on. He sat up on the bed. Today will be the fresh new start of his life. He will try not to being so emotionally depressed about Sherlock Holmes's death again. He already accepted the fact that Sherlock Holmes is really dead.

_Time to move on, John._ John thought.

John yawned. He raised his arms above his head and stretched his arms. He pulled the sheet away. He put his bare feet on the floor. He sat up from the bed and entered the comfort room.

When John looked on the mirror, he blinked in surprised because he can see a tiny moustache growing above his mouth now.

_Oh, I had grown a moustache..._ John thought.

John thought twice if he should shave the moustache or not.

_To shave or not to shave, that is the question._ John thought.

John never grew a moustache before. If he continues to grow a moustache, will Mrs. Hudson still recognize him? Will Greg Lestrade recognize he is John Hamish Watson? Will his therapist recognize him? Will they like him wearing a moustache? He will give it a try. He decided to start working as a doctor on his clinic starting tomorrow.

* * *

When John Watson arrived at the clinic, the receptionist and Sarah were surprised to find a moustache on John's face.

John told them that he wants to try wearing a moustache.

John tried not to distract his mind about Sherlock Holmes. He tried hard to concentrate on his work.

* * *

John Watson promised himself not to go back to 221b Baker Street. He visited Sherlock Holmes's grave after two months. The moustache on his face is still there. He didn't shave it. His moustache grew.

"Hey Sherlock, I have a moustache." John said, pointing at his moustache. He chuckled. Then he lowered his arm on his side. "I think you will probably like it or not..."

John took a deep breath. He put his hand above the gravestone. "I told you not to stay dead, did I? Would you do that again? Just for me, please?" He pleaded.


End file.
